“Ciar,” his dad said sadly, “I didn’t mean?—”
“Go home,” he repeated, not looking at his father.
Sighing, his dad stood and walked to the entrance. He paused in the open doorway but didn’t turn around. “Don’t let you past destroy your future, son. More than you’ve already let it, because you do love Gray MacGregor. Time to face your demons, boy.”
And then he was gone, and Ciar was wrecked. He would have grabbed the bottle of vodka from his liquor cabinet had his daughter not chosen to wake up screaming for his attention.
One week had gone by, and he was still shaken from his dad’s words. They had bored into his chest and sat there aching.
Looking at Imogen lying on the couch cushion by his side, her delighted smile as her chubby feet held her bunny over her head couldn’t even relieve the pressure. He absently rubbed his chest, but nothing soothed the pain.
It was dinnertime, and Ciar was contemplating a plate of cold lasagna in the refrigerator when his phone buzzed. He would have blushed had anyone been there to see him dive for his pocket. Loneliness wasn’t a good look on him.
His brows lifted in surprise. It was a text from Mags.
Mags: What are you doing?
Ciar: Nothing. At home.
Mags: Buy me dinner at Gray Eyes. I have something I want to discuss with you.
Mags: I’ll be there in twenty.
Ciar: Okay.
“Holy shit,” he swore as he lifted Imogen up to his face. “Daddy’s got plans, little one.” Imogen patted his cheeks with slobbery hands as he ripped across the room and ran up the stairs to bang on Tina’s door and asked her to give Imogen her dinner and bath.
Mags surely wanted to speak to him about Gray. Surely.
In the downstairs primary, he tore his clothes off, leaving a trail to the bathroom and was showered, shaved, and redressed in slacks and a dress shirt in twelve minutes.
He texted Tina as he slipped into his leather shoes, saying he was going out for a couple of hours and to call him if she needed anything.
He ran out the front door just as his Uber was pulling up. He could have easily walked the few blocks, but he was down to seven minutes, and he refused to show up sweaty and winded.
Mags’ Uber pulled up right after he exited his, so he walked to her door and helped her out. Her usual mischievous grin or trademark glare were missing. Her features were purposefully smooth, devoid of emotion, but he noticed she was gripping her purse with excessive force.
She was nervous. This might not be a conversation he wanted to hear, because it was clear she didn’t want to have it either.
As they walked toward the entrance, he asked, “Why did you want to meet here and not somewhere closer to your house?”
“I’ve heard the food here is to die for, and I wanted to try it and let you pay for it. Starving artist here.” She raised her hand like she was in school.
Ciar only grunted. He forgot sometimes that not all of his friends were wealthy. He wondered if Mags ever minded the disparity. Knowing her, probably not at all.
The host recognized Ciar and took him to a small table near the back bar. Mags ordered a rum and Coke, and he asked for his regular Absolute over ice with a squeeze of lime.
When drinks arrived, and they placed food orders, she still hadn’t said anything besides to tell him his place could use some embroidery.
He agreed. They lapsed into more silence, causing Ciar to fidget in his seat. Finally, he asked, “How is everyone?” How was Gray?
Mags held up a hand and started ticking off her news one finger at a time. “Blair left today for her internship in Wales with Dagr’s dad. She won’t be coming home that often. We plan on visiting her, though. Bébhinn has taken on several new jobs for Triskelion that she loves. Daniel and Jonathan have been in Oklahoma this past week, checking on some of the O’Faolain properties and businesses. They’re due back.
“Dagr’s still traveling quite a bit between London and here, but his firm here in Dublin is doing very well. And last butcertainly interesting, Ulf Griffiths is spending time with Bran and Patrick.”
“I still can’t believe they just found one another after all these years. Besides the white hair, their mother must have had a thing for big men.”
For the first time that night, Mags cracked a smile. “I think Ulf helps to fill a little piece of what they’ve been missing since Hugh’s passing. The other night, Bébhinn told me that Bran and Patrick let Dagr know that they hadn’t been happy about him not asking their permission to marry Bébhinn.
